


Writing Is Easy

by Age or Wizardry (ageorwizardry)



Category: P.S. Your Cat Is Dead - James Kirkwood
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Post-Canon, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ageorwizardry/pseuds/Age%20or%20Wizardry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing is easy. Just tie up the author until he finally gives you some goddamn words to put down on the typewriter.</p>
<p>Wait. Is that not how this goes?</p>
<p>Or, how the book gets written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing Is Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I saw your prompt about Vito distracting Jimmy from working on his novel, and this story about pretty much the opposite idea immediately fell out instead. Hope you enjoy. :-)
> 
> For anyone who hasn't read the novel, [the cover of the '70s paperback](http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1387716958l/19900617.jpg) can at least catch you up on the premise. It reads: "It's New Year's Eve. Your best friend died in September, you've been robbed twice, your girl friend is leaving you, you've just lost your job... and the only one left to talk to is a gay burglar you've got tied up in the kitchen. P.S. Your Cat Is Dead"
> 
> "You" is Jimmy Zoole. Vito Antenucci is the gay (or bisexual) burglar he has tied up in his kitchen. This is their story (or the story of their story, if you will).
> 
> And I highly recommend reading the original novel. The bit about the Fleet enema alone is funny enough to be worth the price of admission—never mind the Hugglebunnyburgers or the Bang-arama-thons.

"What if I tie _you_ to the table this time?"

Vito was thunderous, exasperated—just this side of good-natured, still, but really more serious than not. Jimmy wasn't sure how to respond.

Vito continued. "I mean, you've talked and _talked_ and talked about how you wanna open the novel, how you wanna structure the novel, how you want the _tone_ to be conver _sa_ tional, you even wrote up your own card for the _jokes_ you wanna put in it, in what _order_ —"

"I—" Jimmy broke in.

"— _But_ ," Vito barreled right over him, "We've been here for two weeks, and you have not written word one, not one single page, that you didn't roll up and throw in the trash right after!"

"You just don't know what it's like, Vito!"

"I'm starting to think I have a better idea of how a novel is written than you do; at least I've _seen_ it done before!"

"So your idea is, what, you tie me to the chair in front of the typewriter, and then—"

"No, I said the table and I mean the _table_."

"The table!"

"You get to decide whether it's face-up or face-down."

"But then Vito, how'm I supposed to write if my _hands_ are tied down?"

"Everyone's a critic. No, come on, I mean I'll tie you up, and then you dictate, and _I'll_ write. You say you want the book to be conversational, so: conversate! I mean, sitting at the typewriter yourself clearly ain't working, so try something else for a change. You know I feel like I owe you for losing your book in the first place," Vito said, changing tactics, "so I'll do anything I can to help you write it again now."

Jimmy actually seemed to be considering it, so Vito continued, wheedling, sweetening the pot: "Come on, give it a try! I'll write your book _for_ you. And I won't even cut your pants off if you have to pee."

Jimmy picked face-up.

"Okay," Vito said, "I'm gonna pick a thing from your card here, annnd... Fleet enema, go!"

"That's not the beginning," Jimmy complained.

"It's _close_ to the beginning, on the card," Vito countered.

"It's not _at_ the beginning."

"You get blocked when you start at the beginning. Start somewhere else and work your way back to it. You only have to try it once; if it doesn't work, we can stop. Now. Fleet enema! _Go_."

"I really should start at the beginning," Jimmy grumbled, but subsided. "Okay, so there was this guy on the subway—no, don't start writing yet!" he rushed to say as the clack of the typewriter started up beneath Vito's hands.

"Jimmy," Vito said flatly. "The whole idea here—"

"I know—"

"—is you talk, I write—"

"I know, I know! But I wasn't _writing_ yet, I was—I was describing, I was setting the scene—"

"Set the scene _in your book_ —"

"I was talking around it!"

"Well, don't talk around it, talk on it! These fingers are ready, and they won't wait! You talk, they're typing."

"Okay." A small clattering. "Okay, goddammit! There was a man on the subway who said it—you know, this would all be just sketchy outline at this point anyway, if I were writing it myself."

"It'll be however you give it to me."

Jimmy sighed. "Okay, okay. He said, 'You'll think it's funny when God takes a Fleet enema on _you_!' And I didn't know if this meant, like, a very fast enema, or if it could mean all the crew from a fleet of ships getting enemas together, as some sort of military procedure—oh, this is awful, I need to go back and fix it."

"We _make_ the words now, we _edit_ the words later," Vito said reassuringly, fingers clacking away steadily at the keys.

"Viiitooo…"

Once Vito finished typing, he got up and looked down at Jimmy consideringly. "Look at you, laid out there, tied up for me like you're a present. You know, maybe you could use some petting, huh? We'll try it—and see whether it makes you write better or worse!" He dragged a hand down the length of Jimmy's chest, continuing across his belly and between his legs—but raised it once Jimmy's hips lifted into the air. Jimmy's mouth opened and nothing came out but a thready moan.

" _Those_ aren't words." Vito chuckled as he sat back down at the typewriter. "You need _words_ if you're going to fill this page. Do you want to be done by dinner?"

"Ohhh, fuck, Vito, _fuck_ , touch—you..."

"Those are words, but I don't think they're sentences..."

"Cock! Cock cock cock cock cock!"

Vito laughed as his fingers struck evenly at the keys, clack-clack-clack-clack, as he diligently spelled c-o-c-k over and over again. "Was that five or six repetitions, do you think?" he mused.

"I want to touch your hair," Jimmy said, disconnected from anything else. Vito faced away from him, seated at the typewriter, so he could only see the back of Vito's head from where he lay. Vito's hair was dark brown and glossy in the light, and Jimmy's hands itched to touch it.

" _That's_ not what you want me to touch," Vito commented slyly. " _And_ it isn't part of your no-vel," he continued in a sing-song voice.

"I definitely want _you_ to touch something else," Jimmy agreed, "but I do want to touch your hair."

"You want me to untie your _hands_ , is what," Vito said, but Jimmy could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, maybe if you're good I'll bend my head down next to where they're tied and you can pet me like a cat—but! For now, no hair, no touching—only writing! One _whole page_ before we stop, and you don't throw it away after!"

Jimmy fell silent for a moment, then resumed, more seriously. "Never mind the Fleet enema for now. Forget the rest of the bits on the card. I think... I can tell you about Pete now. Pete Williams was my closest and dearest friend. Bright, witty, talented, warm, feisty, and, even better, complex. He was rarely without surprise..."

He continued in that vein for some time, the typewriter clattering along underneath his voice like a chorus line beneath a melody. When at last he drew to a close (and the typewriter followed him into silence a few beats after), Vito said, "That's not quite a page. But. That was good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said, "that was good."

"There'll be some keepers in there, maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe. If not, then at least something to build on later."

"No throwing the paper away?"

"No, Vito, I won't throw this one away."

"Good."

"Say, Vito?"

"Yeah?"

"What if... what if I don't want you to untie me yet, when it's time for dinner?"

Vito was silent for a moment, then swung around in the chair so Jimmy could see his tomcat smile. "Then I hope you don't mind getting a messy face. For the main reason, I sure never fed anyone by hand before."

**Author's Note:**

> The title and summary, of course, come from the saying "Writing is easy. You just sit at your typewriter until little drops of blood appear on your forehead." ([This quotation is ascribed, in various forms and perhaps erroneously, to several different people](http://quoteinvestigator.com/2011/09/14/writing-bleed/)).
> 
> The lines about the Fleet enema that Jimmy dictates in my story are _very_ loosely paraphrased from lines in the novel. The lines he dictates about Pete Williams are verbatim.


End file.
